


Victuuri Smut | Ongoing

by dovecitadel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, Near Future, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-13 11:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 18,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovecitadel/pseuds/dovecitadel
Summary: Come in, sin, go back out refreshed and happy.Ongoing | Peer-Verified Good Literature | (!) in the Chapter Title Demarcates 18+ Content





	1. Tense !

His body is considerably cooler than mine. The cold grace of his touch feels like a godsend, I am so overcome with warm want. His touch is all at once lovingly calming and temptingly stirring. He nuzzles into my hand fondly while I fist and unfist, twirl and untwirl his hair in short tufts. I can feel my self-control slipping like the hair I let flow through my fingers. 

"Yuri," he purrs, "what's on your mind?"

Without skipping a beat, I'm sitting up and tearing my shirt over my shoulders. Victor watches in something like stiff amazement. He often gives me this particular look when I act on impulse, right before he softens into a look of playful gaiety. 

"I want to try something new tonight," I explain, probably sweating by now. 

I gingerly pause the rush to break free of my clothes, removing my glasses. The loss of my glasses— I think— does it for Victor. I hardly notice what's happening, though, still trying to adjust to the sudden loss of vision. In one swift motion, Victor is pulling me from my place in the bed to the foot of it.

"You wanna try something new?" his voice sends goosebumps quivering down my spine.

His fingers hook under the hem of my pants as a question and the balk of my hips is enough of an answer for him. My clothes easily become but a distant, clouded memory. Victor's are not, yet, and he teases me by pressing the material of his pants against my unbearably turgid want.

I revel under his refreshing touch as it blesses my skin again and again, each kiss like a new beginning to our paragon love story. I need more of it— more of him, rather, out in the open for me to consume. Ironically enough, I am the one fully exposed, playfully referred to as a tasty pork cutlet bowl. I bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself to keep pushing onward.

I don't want to break his chain of kisses so I encourage his clothes away through a series of rough tugs and frustrated moans. But I was wrong to think relieving him of his clothes would relieve me of the sexual frustration. Now that his nighttime garb joins my clothes in the void of memory, I am a terrible tense mess. 

I swallow the lump in my throat and gather my words.

"I've never given myself to anybody, Victor, keep in mind— especially not like this—" I cringe at the pathetic sound of it.

Victor's eyes glimmer for a second. He looks as if I've struck him over the head, eyes bleary and the wind knocked out of him. With a slight shake of his head, however, he soon recuperates. I wonder if what I said had more meaning than it should have. I don't think I'm Victor's first rodeo— I'm fairly certain that was Chris— but he's definitely mine.

"I have to say I'm surprised you want this now, Yuri," he says fondly. "I thought you to be the kind who'd wait until marriage," the strong Russian accent adds even more of a playful dance to the sentence.

"Are you kidding?" I lift an eyebrow, challenging him with equal tones of playful spunk. "By the time we're married I want to be an expert. Your own personal Eros, if you will," I add with a seductive pause and shrug.

Victor's face brightens until it could light up Times Square.

"So you will marry me then?" Victor tries to contain the excitement by asking the question softly, but the tearful joy in his eyes betrays him.

"Was it ever a question?" 

I take this suggestive moment to be the perfect opportunity to position myself for him. It feels strange to raise my haunches for someone else to clearly see. I normally do everything in my power to stay completely under the radar, after all. In this situation, though, I really want Victor to do a lot more than study me or ogle me.

"Fuck me, Victor, please," a sweat breaks harshly, like a wet lash to my back, as I make the request.

My lungs constrict as Victor obediently positions himself over me, leaning down to whisper in my ear.

"I need lubricant or protection or something," he chuckles.

I collapse onto my stomach, surprising him. He starts, losing his balance for a split second. He regains it almost at once, that agile figure skater, and then his eyes soften with the creases of his smile.

"I forgot about that," I cringe into the duvet. 

Unaware of the adoring look just inches above my head, I assume I've aggravated or annoyed him.

"Don't worry, Yuri," he chuckles again, amused at my naïveté.

I lift my head, embarrassed but also interested. I watch Victor disappear into the bathroom, reappearing moments later with both a condom and lubricant in hand. My body flushes with heat when he gives me that signature wink that only Victor Nikiforov can deliver with such compelling charm. This time, as we position ourselves, something in me understands the gravitas of what I'm asking Victor to do.

Fear and anxiety sap the strength from my arms, leaving me trembling and fighting for air while Victor's now properly armored length touches my skin. Or with the extra caution he takes, am I the real one who's armored? His voice is suddenly in my ear again.

"Are you sure you want this, Yuri? I'll be honest," the lust in his voice dark and husky. "Once I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

I understand, but something in me wants to trust that, even with that primal hunger, Victor loves me enough to stop if something has truly gone awry. I wonder if he could. I hang on to that thought in tense fear for several heartbeats. I think my heart might explode from the tidal waves of emotions hungrily lapping at my physical strength. In an effort to calm the violent storm of fear and anxiety, I remind myself of the resolve I've made within my time getting to know Victor: Love has changed me, and I'm stronger now for it. I dutifully remind myself that I'm not the boy I used to be, fearful, timid, and alone— I'm the man Victor helped me become, strong, confident, and anything but alone.

"I'm ready, Victor," I gasp, already fighting to keep myself from collapsing into the duvet again.

His only response is a low grunt and the migratory motion of his hand from wherever it was to the base of my want for him. Red pain ripples up and down my body, his girth larger than my opening. Tears instantly fill my eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, the moment Victor's length penetrates my body. With every push, my body violently convulses and with every pull my body protests his absence. Simultaneously, I am filled with assaulting anguish and aureate pleasure to extremes I never imagined I could experience in tandem with one another. 

Tears stream down my face and I clutch the duvet, trapped in a fit of something close to searing agony because of how tense I have become. I bow my head low and flatten my spine in an effort to keep my legs from sliding. Victor utters a stream of inarticulate Russian swears, head lulling back in pleasure as his length weaves, glides, and slides in and out— is this how the ice feels when he skates?

"Oh! Victor!" I hear his name tumbling from my lips on an uncontrollable loop. "Victor— Victor! O-oh. Unh!"

Merciful God, it hurts so bad, but I want so much more before I'm through.


	2. Ignite !

The room fills with the sounds of intense breathing, moaning, begging, and love-making. His previously icy skin is clammy now and just as hot as mine has always been. Victor's touch has metamorphosed from a refreshing oasis to a red-scalding oven within a matter of heartbeats. Not only are his actions now fueled by fire, but with each thrust onward, searing pain blooms and then burns like fire.

After his presence is firmly established, I realize this tight pain actually feels good in a— what am I trying to say? I've never experienced this before— sexual way. My body begins to buck and balk in rhythm with the beat of Victor's hips. He gives me no time to catch my breath. His thumb suddenly takes command of my body, rubbing circles at the top of my erection. My body is so hot, I think it might burst.

I know something is getting ready to burst, at least. Merciful God, I am so overwhelmed with pleasure?— and wicked, throbbing, terrible pain... but mostly pleasure, now.

"Yuura," Victor's voice suddenly sounds uncharacteristically vulnerable and pleading. He pants for several breaths before he can manage any other intelligible sounds. "I'm gonna come, Yuura," he breathes.

I don't feel obliged to give him options in this situation, because I know how I want this to end. I force my body free and scramble to reach a proper blow job position. It's not as graceful a sweep as his earlier move upon me, but in a matter of seconds I have him in my stead at the foot of the bed. I'm positioned between his legs with my hands holding his knees open— not that they need to, though. Victor is so suddenly overtaken, he throws his head back and begs me to show him no mercy.

Obediently enough, when his length passes through my lips, there is not even one merciful intention on my mind. But then I realize I can't take all of Victor at once. I almost choke and ruin the entire mood. My hands flinch nervously.

Victor feels the brief moment of hesitation and lifts his head.

"Are you alright, Yuri?" the genuine concern in his voice is clouded by residual waves of pleasure.

"Mhm," I hum around his cock, swirling what length I can with my tongue.

Victor clutches the sheets and releases a dribble of precum. The taste is harshly bitter but it's the same sort of painfully enjoyable sensation that I so crave. How could I mind the taste anyway, what with Victor gasping my name and now raking his hands desperately through my hair. When I clamp my lips down and really begin to suck, I can actually feel Victor trembling and trying to convulse. His hips begin to thrust on their own accord, so I keep my head with the motion— quite literally ready to take whatever comes.

"Yuuri," Victor groans repeatedly at various intensities and various volumes, "Yuuri-- I'm cumming-- ohh!-- anh, Yuuri, I'm sorry," he yields.

I'm almost surprised by the sheer quantity of liquid, forced to either swallow or drown in my own fiancé's bodily fluids. When I swallow, my whole body shivers at the hot salient taste. Overcome with the volcanic heat of sex, I collapse into the surprisingly cold, forgotten sheets. The algid sheets finally coax my lungs open.

"Don't apologize," I wipe at the corners of my mouth. "That was amazing, Victor."

"Yuuri," Victor gingerly takes up the space beside me, "you're absolutely amazing," his smile that follows is soft and adoring.

Spent as I am, he has my engines roaring and I'm ready to ignite again. I do my best not to growl when I make my response.

"Victor." I have to pause there. Something in me is suddenly too shy to ask. I bite my lip and consider my words before I upheave them. "I feel like every kind of dirty there is. Will you shower with me?" I can already feel the blush dusting my face while I mumble the proposal.

Before I even know what's hit me, Victor has me in his arms, bridal style, carrying me toward the adjacent shower room. 

"Absolutely, Yuuri-kun!" 

Despite the shameless wildfires blooming in my body, I can't help but giggle shyly at Victor's excited reply.


	3. Steam

Not until my legs move so I remember my own need for release. The moment water touches my skin, I can hardly breathe from renewed pleasure. Victor quickly relieves me, and I'm grateful for the disencumberment. As if a veil is lifted over my eyes, I can suddenly see Victor in a new light. A steam-filled, rosy, blurry light. 

I find myself leaning on him as he rubs shampoo into my hair with one hand and seeps soap down my body with the other. Steam lifts from the tile flooring, clouding my already unclear vision. I find it easier to just close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of being washed and cared for by someone who loves me. Describing the feeling as nice is a gross understatement, but it is nice, and blissfully comforting.

The water is off too soon, in my opinion, but I do feel refreshed and invigorated. Victor presses a warm kiss to the top of my head before helping me into a bathrobe. 

I am so ready to cuddle with him.

"Victor," I yawn, slipping under the covers and waiting for him to join me.

"Mm?" He slides into the empty space beside me, propping himself up on one elbow to look down on me affectionately.

"Cuddle," I murmur, inching toward him until I can bury my face in his chest.

He leans back with a content sigh and hugs me close. "Of course, Yuuri," he smiles. "Come here," he adjusts so that I lie with one half of my body directly on top of him and the other half spilling onto my side of the bed.

"I love you, Victor," I yawn, clutching my arms sleepily around his slender torso.

"I love you too, Yuura." I infected him the yawn.

 

I'm unprepared for the pain of post-sex aftermath when the morning arrives. Victor brings me my breakfast with an air of guilt and obvious feelings of responsibility. I stare at the plate on the nightstand next to the steaming cup of coffee, willing them to levitate to my mouth but, sadly, this isn't a Harry Potter AU. The author is probably laughing way too hard at that break in the fourth wall.... I have to bite the bullet and sit up.

Pain erupts down my back and into my thighs. I break a sweat just trying to inch my way up to a sitting position. My stomach suddenly protests the new position, commanding me to double over in pain, which only aggravates literally every other muscle in my body. Defeated, I collapse under the covers again.

"Is it always going to hurt this bad?" I wince.

Victor shrugs from his position atop a stool at the foot of the bed. He lowers his mug of coffee and says, "The first time hurts the worst for everyone— men, women, young, old, etcetera, etcetera— your body will get used to it eventually, Yuura." Before he finishes speaking he sets down the mug and walks over to me, concern clearly written on his face as if tattooed across his forehead in bold lettering.

He feels my own forehead with the back of his hand. His hand is cool as ever to the touch. I wonder if that's a good or bad sign this time.

"You feel warm to me, Yuuri," he finally decides. "I'm going to pour you some ice water, instead of coffee. Is that alright?"

I nod weakly, watching him disappear down stairs, heading into the kitchen. He reappears moments later, a wet rag and a frosted glass of ice water in hand. He replaces my steaming mug with the glass and lays the rag over my head with a frustrated air of delicate concentration about him now. I smile as I watch him, accidentally catching his attention.

"Am I amusing you?" he blesses the side of my face with the endearing touch of his hand.

"Mm— no," I mumble. "I just love the way you love me," I laugh hoarsely. "You understand that I actually asked for this last night, and it's not your fault in any way, shape, or form— don't you?I'll be better in a day, Vitya. You said, yourself, it happens to everyone." 

I already need to turn the rag over and hope the other side is cooler from the embarrassment of trying out the endearing diminutive of his name. 

"Mm," he hums, scrutinizing me before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head. "Alright, Yuura," I relax at the endearing diminutive of my name. "I wish you could see how beautiful you are, even when you're mildly sick," he pauses to press another ginger kiss to my lips. "How are you this perfect?"

"I ought to be asking you a similar question," I find the strength to lift one arm and run my fingers through the rush of soft platinum hair adoringly. "I couldn't have— I can't imagine anybody more perfect than you, Victor."


	4. Ice

I'm awoken by the soft sounds of Victor's ginger approach. He's checking on me like the overprotective fiancé, coach, and friend he sure as hell is. His face brightens when he notices that I've stirred.

"Yuuri," he says softly, "ah, you're awake. Are you feeling better?"

"Stiff," I admit with a yawn, "and cramped and sore, but I do feel better than I did this morning. What time is it?"

"It's only noon, I came up to check on the status of your breakfast," Victor chuckles, seeing it's untouched. "You've gone through the water, at least. I'll get you more."

"Hang on, I'd rather move to the couch downstairs." I roll onto my side and stretch.

With several slow, but steady, movements I rise to my feet.

"I'll feel good as new in no time— after a few more naps," I boast, "I bet you I'll even be back on the ice tomorrow."

"Mm," Victor smirks, arching one eyebrow skeptically as he clears the nightstand. "We'll see how well that goes. Don't push yourself too much, Yuura, I don't want you hurting your body," real concern frays the edge of his voice.

I shake the warning off easily. "I'll be fine, Victor, you dote over me too much."

"Too much," Victor scoffs teasingly, planting a cool kiss on my cheek as he passes. I follow at a slower pace.

 

Staying in Russia with Victor is nice and all, but the people we share the ice with are generally not— namely, Yuri Plisetsky. Yurio— as my sister has dubbed him, in an effort to differentiate us during conversation— is his own kind of glad to see us today though, and perhaps the presence of his visiting friend, Otabek Altin, has somewhat relaxed him.

"Where were you yesterday?" Yurio mutters, lacing up his skates. "It's unlike either of you to skip your normal practice days."

My cheeks immediately flourish with color. Victor, though, easily swoops to my rescue before I can bumble something about our first time trying anal sex.

"Yuuri wasn't feeling well," Victor explains, tossing a charming wink my way. "Still might not be in fantastic condition, but he insists the ice is its own form of therapy."

"Yeah, well, none of that mushy relationship garbage that you normally do on the ice today," Yurio scoffs, but he casts a wistful sidelong glance toward Otabek as he says it.

"Just out here then?" Victor teases him, moving forward to press a brazen kiss to my cheek.

I feel myself shift between every shade of red under the sun, shyly turning my head away from my shameless lover's public display of affection. Yurio flips Victor a lewd gesture. He glowers to himself angrily, still smarting even while he enters the ice. I can't help but notice how he almost immediately cools down upon the sight of Otabek, though. I turn my face just in time to see Victor noticing the same scene unfold.

"They must be good for each other, no?" He pats the seat beside him as he moves to sit down and watch them practice.

Victor has known Yurio longer than I, and they have a preexisting bond that resembles something like the love between two brothers or perhaps a father and son, what with Yurio being considerably younger than Victor. I assume that Victor must still be hammering out exactly how he feels about passing the care and protection of the young Russian prodigy into the hands of quiet and foreign Otabek.

"I think so," I shrug my agreement, landing heavily on the bench beside Victor. "The two of them don't normally smile, but around each other they could almost pass for cheerful."

"Mm," Victor hums in agreement, his hand passively coming to rest atop mine. "They do seem happier together."

We watch Yurio attempt to help Otabek add a new jump to his inventory. Otabek is not nearly as flexible and lithe as the classically-trained Russian balletic World Grand Prix gold medalist. I know from personal experience just how intense Yurio can be while he teaches, but Otabek is a swift learner and Yurio is patient with him. Victor watches them like a hawk, studying what, I am unsure, but studying something, nonetheless.

Impulsively, or maybe jealously, I am overcome by the temptation to move Victor's hand just slightly closer to my thigh. I pick up his hand and drop it on my knee. Without missing a beat, and without peeling his gaze from the ice, his hand begins to slide up my thigh, lifting goosebumps beneath his wake. A breathy groan tumbles from my lips, suddenly capturing his attention. My hips buck on their own, daring him to move higher.

Just as our lips connect and Victor's arms snake around my torso, an angry accented voice shakes the rink.

"Victor Nikiforov! What did I say to you!?" Yurio is already leaving the ice in a huff with Otabek in tow. "We ought to give them some privacy, Otabek, let's go," Yurio mutters, not yet out of earshot.

"There they go," I smirk.

"Alone at last," mischief glints in Victor's eyes as he says it.


	5. Firelight

It feels good to be back on the ice, especially with Victor. I'm not sure how long Otabek plans on staying in Russia, presumably for Yurio, but I'm here almost indefinitely. Russia is a cold, unfamiliar country, but the ice is like home. As if to punctuate the thought, Victor skates up to me from behind.

"You look very tense, Yuuri," he frowns.

"I can't imagine why," I chuckle, coming to a tired halt at the closest corner I can reach. 

"I mean it when I say don't push yourself too hard," Victor steadies me on my skates with the reassuring clasp of his hand to my shoulder.

My stomach distracts me, painfully churning in knots probably from hunger pangs, due to my lack of substantial meals yesterday. I want to protest and actually get some practicing in, though. I stand a little taller and give Victor my best face.

"A short practice," I compromise. "One run through of the new routine."

He retracts his hand from my shoulder and slowly brings it to his own thoughtful face. I almost melt under the intensity of his worried blue gaze. A churning ocean of emotions stirs in the depths of his irises, stripping me of all previous confidence. But he bequeathes the decision to me.

"If that would make you happy, Yuura," he concedes.

I'm not even halfway through the routine when Yurio and Otabek return, pirozhkis in hand. Jealousy echoes around the empty cavity in my stomach. A well-timed jump allows me to turn away from them and refocus on skating. Even as distracted and sore as I am, the ice does its job on me. When I finally exit the rink, I feel invigorated somehow. Victor jumps on me first, clearly forgetting my fragility.

"You get better every time," he bubbles. "You've made so much improvement since I first came to you, Yuuri— I can't believe you're doing quads with ease now!"

I can't help but blush at the praise. 

"Victor," I hug myself into his shoulder to hide my face. "You're embarrassing me."

"Get a room!" Yurio shouts, moody as ever.

*****

Maybe we didn't follow Yurio's orders at that exact moment, but after a longer day of practice than originally bargained for, and Victor taking me out for dinner to make up for the overexertion, Victor and I were more than ready to return home and sleep together. Er... "sleep together," anyway.

The moment the door closes behind us, Makkachin comes running, jumping on us eagerly. We notice, of course, but we're just a little busy, lips locked and bodies still hungry for each other. We break mostly for air but Victor does pat Makkachin's head and greet him fondly. I move to do the same, but Victor's flushed stare catches my attention. His face is dusted by the blush of strong desire.

"You're turned on," I observe as he pulls me back up to dutifully resume kissing.

"That's an understatement," Victor groans, his hands roaming passionately downward to intimate regions. He bites his lip and releases a throaty groan.

"Why don't you take me to bed?" I implore breathlessly, the command thinly disguised as a question. "Let's get out of the foyer."

He sweeps me up in one clean motion, Makkachin following us excitedly up the stairs. I hug myself to Victor's chest. Caught up listening to the quick and heavy beat of his heart, I absentmindedly begin unbuttoning the collar of Victor's shirt while he carries me. He chuckles.

"Can't wait till the bedroom?" he teases. 

"Mm, absolutely not," I respond playfully, unbuttoning one more to prove my point.

I can't reach any others in this position, but he sets me down in order to open the door anyway. Makkachin runs in first and occupies the bed.

"Makkachin," I laugh, "you might want to move, pal."

Victor sets me down and leaves an arm's distance from my side for the first time since dinner ended, only to playfully evict Makkachin and turn on the fireplace. The atmosphere transforms almost immediately. And then suddenly I find myself in Victor's arms again, about to be deposited in bed. 

I catch the blue firelight crackling in Victor's eyes. I don't know if I've ever seen him so ready for sex, perhaps I broke down the last barrier between us and a monstrously passionate sexual relationship yesterday night. Merciful Creator, he is gorgeous when he's lusting. And even though I thought I was satisfied, the hunger flickering in his eyes is rather contagious, I will admit.


	6. Quake !

His hands rake up and down my thighs, trembling with the effort of restraining himself. I notice the amount of self-control he's exerting and wonder if he holds back because he's afraid of hurting me again. I bite my lip to staunch a snort of laughter. Victor doesn't have to hold back, so I elect to tell him as much.

"It's okay, Victor," I whisper, snaking my hands around his torso. 

He shudders and clutches me tighter. He utters a long string of Russian curse words under his breath as he pulls the clothes from my body. I lay back, wriggling out of the clothes as they go. Victor bites his lip as he watches me. His hands travel up to my waist, leaning over me to press gentle kisses up my body while his hands migrate.

My body tingles with the sensation. Every open cavity within my body begins to fill with trundling desire. I swallow hard against the rush of pleasure. Then Victor reaches my neck, and he lingers. My back arches as his kiss intensifies into a ferocious love bite. 

My body is suddenly on the verge of short-circuiting. His name and a mixture of pleas and cries fall from my lips. Victor groans against my skin, setting my heart rate aflutter. I'm a panting, squirming mess beneath him, but he's still fully clothed. I realize my fingers, firmly fisted in his soft pale hair, suddenly have a much more interesting job opportunity, so I put them to work unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. 

His lips oscillate to a new place on my neck while his hands move to help me in my endeavor to undress him. He shrugs out of his shirt, never once breaking the string of kisses. He moves to my collar bone, this time nibbling with his teeth. Desperately, I reach to unfasten his pants. I gasp as his teeth clamp down at the same moment I loosen the first button. 

We both quake under the pressure of super-heated desire.

Victor hums against my skin again, kissing the bruised skin left behind in his wake. As if to offer a silent apology, he blinks, looking between the bruises and my face. He stands straight and finally steps out of his pants and underwear. I take the momentary pause as an opportunity to change positions. He eyes me with slightly amused curiosity glimmering in his gaze as I sit up.

"What are you up to?" he tilts his head, coming to meet me at the edge of the bed.

Before I can even get the words out, my face flushes and my stomach constricts at the idea of saying it out loud.

"Are we trying something new again?" Victor smirks, pressing every inch of his smooth lean body close until our skin touches. 

I stiffen and then relax against the touch of his cool bare skin. The relief of not having to look into his smoldering blue eyes as I say it finally kindles enough strength in me to admit what I want to do out loud.

"Switch positions with me," my voice quavers for half a second but I fight to keep it even. "I wanna straddle you."

"Oh," he arches an eyebrow as if to illustrate his interest has been sharply piqued. 

He obediently takes my place at the edge of the bed, giving me space to stand between his legs for a moment. The mood changes from fiery to something harder to explain within the space of a handful of nervous heartbeats. The air softens and becomes easier to inhale as I mount one leg on either side of his body. His eyes are dazzling in this light, shining brilliantly as his face displays mingling emotions of desperate need, intense passion and expectant curiosity.

I cup one hand around his chin and tilt it gently to meet me in a sultry kiss. My other hand maps it's way around his back and up into his hair.

"You're trembling," Victor murmurs, breaking the kiss for only a moment.


	7. Pleasure !

"Mm," I harness my nervous energy in favor of converting it into torrid charm. "Am I?"

"Ohh, Yuuri," he groans, seemingly wrapped around my finger. 

I firmly press against him, our chests touching and my length grazing dangerously close to an intimate pleasure region. His breath hitches, helpless to do anything but beg and make desperate promises. I'd like to listen longer to the electrifying sound of his voice riding the razor's edge between ecstasy and tortuous desire, but he is simply too compelling. My hips begin to circle into his, grinding into him and pushing him backward. His hands suddenly find my wrists and clench hard.

"Yuuri— oh!— Yuura, please." A breathless pause. "Yuuri— anh. Fuck." It's an instruction, I realize.

By a cool tilt of my chin, I motion for Victor to roll over. Slave to my command, he flips onto his stomach, waiting for my next action with bated breath. Without any sort of warning to Victor, I lower my face and utilize my tongue to wet him down. I don't need to speak Russian to understand that Victor is saying some very unholy words in a very unholy manner. 

"Ohh— Yuura," he can hardly start, "Your tongue is exhilarating," he manages.

This being all the encouragement I need, I slowly push my tongue deeper. I'll admit I expected this to be an awful experience for me, worth only the pleasure of Victor. But I'm not assaulted by any single smell or taste, a fact for which I am inexpressibly grateful to my lover. Victor showers and cleans well, luckily for me, otherwise I may have stopped by now. I finally get to the point where I simply can't take not being inside of him, though.

My length is turgid with apprehension, throbbing painfully at the idea of finally pushing inside of Victor. I do as Victor did for me, grasping the base of his erect want and cogently fondling him as I enter him. The immediate groans and near screams that erupt from him almost cause me to stop. I fear that I could damage him or hurt him beyond the ability to feel pleasure.

"Keep going, Yuuri, please," he begs, nearly airless.

I obey readily and without yield, but I want to be cautious. His face streams with tears, as mine did, although he shows not nearly as much discomfort as I felt. Victor seems to be enjoying the pulse of the moment, allowing me to refocus on my own pleasure. If there was ever any doubt of my sexuality, I am discovering now that I am indubitably into Victor Nikiforov. The thought brings a shameful smile to my lips.

I can feel liquid pleasure begin to rise in my body. I know what's coming so I do my best to let Victor know above the swamping sounds of two young men passionately making love. 

"Victor," I pant. "Victor, I'm gonna come."

"Don't hold back anything," Victor arches his back in pleasure. "Fuck, Yuuri, you're amazing."

"Good God," I gasp. "Oh— Victor!— I love you," I groan.

I recognize a few Russian phrases mixed with the return of "I love you, too, Yuura," and I can't believe I can actually still blush under all this preexisting heat in my body. 

The combination of overwhelming heat, passion, and pleasure send me careening over the shelf of self-control into a sea of rhapsody. Victor, throbbing and dripping, also appears ready to give. Still positioned firmly inside of him, I move my thumb ever-so-slightly to cover his urethra, thus rendering him completely plugged and doomed to erupt. I didn't think it was possible for his moans and verbalisms to become even less godly, but he now demonstrates for me otherwise.

His body yields almost violently, a deeply gratified sigh leaving his lips, as if finally relieved of an engulfing demonic possession. We, and the bed, are drenched in bodily fluids. Before either of us are ready to pick up and clean up, neither can resist just one more messy, steamy, tempestuous kiss.


	8. Melting

As the days melt into nights, the days become shorter and the nights become longer. The seasons are shifting, I finding myself competing in Russia as the winter blows in full-throttle. Leaving Victor's house is cause for significant dread, and if I'm being honest, so is leaving his bed. Victor and I do both as seldom as we can. So unlike our normal response to anything from our Thai figure-skating friend, we are less than excited to see an invitation to come out of the house from Phichit. 

This weekend, our circle of friends plans to throw a local Russian friend, Georgi, a surprise birthday party. I turn to Victor before confirming that we'll go.

"We aren't doing anything this Saturday?"

"Not that I know of," Victor shrugs, setting down a steaming cup of hot chocolate before me as he snuggles back into the couch.

I absentmindedly kiss him on the cheek and resume sharing the throw-blanket. He responds to my silent greeting by cupping my chin in his hand and pressing a warm kiss to my lips. I can feel all of the tension in my body melting away. I almost forget what I want to show him.

"Mm-oh!" I pull away, distracted.

He leans back, amused. One arm draped coolly over the spine of the couch, he watches me with half-lidded eyes. I search my text messages for Phichit's invitation to the party. Victor patiently takes a sip from his own mug while he waits. Come to think of it, I have no idea what he's drinking. When I finally find the text, I trade my phone for Victor's mug.

He chuckles, without even looking up from reading.

"I wouldn't drink that, Yuuri."

"What is this?" I ask incredulously, leaning in to smell.

"Not something you need," Victor winks at me before returning to reading. "I handle my alcohol just a little better than you, my love," he says, nonchalantly.

I consider whether to be offended or embarrassed. Victor doesn't give me much time to mull it over, however, trading with me again.

"You can tell Phichit to expect us there," Victor nods.

"Okay," I begin to type the message but stop halfway through. "Am I that bad when I drink?"

Victor suddenly percolates uncontrollably with laughter. My face turns red in both confusion and anger. I don't see what's so funny, I was asking an honest question. He sees my face and the light melts from his face as if suddenly weighted by realization.

"Yuura, of course not. You're not 'bad' when you drink at all!" he shakes his head. "I didn't mean to offend you. What I meant to say is, if you were to have something this strong, it wouldn't be good for you. I'm drinking it to keep warm— I figured you'd prefer hot chocolate for that purpose. I didn't mean to imply anything offensive, Yuuri-kun, I can promise you that on Makkachin's head."

The brown poodle looks up hopefully from his position beneath the television upon the sound of his name. I'd like to continue being angry at Victor, but I believe his apology, and Makkachin helped sell the conclusion a little too well— what with the adorable excited wag of his tail.

"Hm-mm," I mumble, curling into Victor's chest. "Why don't we just keep each other warm then?"

Victor wraps his arms around me and drenches me with warm, sloppy kisses. I squirm under the shower of affection, beginning to giggle to myself. Makkachin runs up at the action, barking dutifully.

"Vic-tor," I groan, shrugging away playfully.

Victor pulls me into his lap, however, and holds me down. Before I even realize what's happening, his fingers begin to dust my waist in merciless tickles. Now it's my turn for laughter to percolate uncontrollably from my chest. Makkachin tries to leap to my rescue but Victor easily fends off both the dog and me.

"Victor!" I plead. "Stop!" I gasp, between fits of effervescent laughter. "What do you want?! I'll give you anything!"

"Anything?" Victor whispers, just barely audible, beneath the excited barking of Makkachin. 

Victor bends his neck to push his lips up to the lobe of my ear, all the while, holding me captive in his lap as he tortuously continues tickling.

"Anything!" I cry, trying to wriggle free. "Heavens Above— Victor, let me breathe," I plead, doubling-over in defeat.

"Hm," Victor finally lets go. "Alright, but now you owe me anything of my choosing."

"I owe you no such— ahaHAHA— okay! Okay! Okay— whatever you want, Bikuta-chan (Victor) haHEHEHahahah— just stop!"

"That's better," Victor flashes a triumphant smile as he lets go again. "Now you get to go out and buy Georgi's present from us."

"Are you seriously— what, right now?"

"I love you, Yuuri-kun," he grins. Victor stands at the door, holding out my coat for me to step into, Makkachin circling happily around his ankles.

Victor and I both come up to give the poodle the attention and petting he desires.

"Yeah, yeah," I chuckle, pulling Victor in for a sweet, if not somewhat begrudging, farewell kiss before I leave.


	9. Elkena

The sky rumbles threateningly overhead. I look up and pray that the sky doesn't open. But do the clouds obey me? The answer is no— snow flurries soon begin to twirl lazily into my vision. Victor is lucky he lives within walking distance of the shopping plaza, otherwise I'd just turn around. I nonchalantly tilt my head back as I walk, just to observe the snow, but the sound of a struggle soon catches my attention.

I look around myself in confusion, sweeping a one-eighty until I spot two very familiar faces poised before the entrance of a long, dark alley. Surprise twinges in my nerves. Even through the thickening snowfall, I recognize them.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Yurio yells from the back of Otabek's motorcycle at an unseen entity. 

I quietly inch closer until I can see what's happening.

Otabek glances between Yurio and a clearly hung-over woman bending over an infant girl, worry plastered on Otabek's face.

"Shut the hell up!" the woman barks at Yurio, flipping him an obscene gesture. "Mind your own business, pretty boy!"

I watch in stunned silence as the two begin heatedly arguing in Russian. Otabek, much to his dismay, watches Yurio jump off the bike and begin to confront the woman. The woman lifts her arm to strike Yurio, sending Otabek into defensive action, diving between the two.

"That's enough!" Otabek growls, placing a firm hand on Yurio's chest and giving the woman a hard look of warning.

I take this moment to jump in as well.

"Yurio, Otabek, what's going on?" I jog up to them all.

"This hag is abusing that kid!" Yurio spits. "I literally just saw her hit the kid with that bottle!" 

I turn to the woman, expecting a rational defense.

"I'm not abusing anybody! The girl was whining. Keep your blond head out of my parenting!" the woman shouts indignantly. 

Otabek and I exchange a glance as equally worried bystanders.

"Ma'am— er— you can't do that," I am painfully aware of my accented English, turning in search of the little girl as an act of something like self-defense.

She is cowering behind her mother, shaking and wiping blood from various places. 

"Yurio, you're more familiar with the law here than I am— what do we do?" I direct the question at Yurio without taking my eyes off the girl. 

"Call the police and tell her how stupid she is until they get here!" Yurio kicks a pile of collecting snow at the woman.

It mostly cakes the small girl, however, worsening her shivers. Otabek dials the police as more fighting breaks out. The little girl begins to crawl away, but I quickly snatch her up and take a few steps away from it all. Panicking at the fact that I have just stolen an abused, bloodied infant, I stop in my tracks.

"Hey, hey, shh," I pat her back comfortingly, although I bounce on my heels nervously. "Its okay. I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

"Mama is bad," the little girl cries simply, pushing into my chest. "She's bad!" 

This takes me by surprise. I look down at her, hoping the blood won't show on my snow-proof coat. I wonder what the heck are three competitive male ice-skaters supposed to do for this poor little girl.

The distant shouting becomes a lot louder when the woman finally lands a good punch to Yurio's face. Otabek's own face hardens, lowering his cellphone slightly, while Yurio poises for an outraged attack. I turn swiftly to direct the little girl's attention away, sitting down in the snow with her, despite the cold.

"What's your name?" I prompt her, praying for policemen to show up soon.

"Elkena," she coughs as stray snow hits her face. I quickly lean over her to protect her from the harshening weather.

"Elkena?" I ask, rubbing the blood and the snow out of her eyes. I've never heard a name like Elkena before, I struggle on the "L" sound, I'd rather say "Erika."

"Yes," the girl nods, curling closer to my chest when she suddenly hears her mother call out to us.

"Hey!" the woman shouts, trying to stumble toward us. Otabek swiftly holds her back. "What the hell are you doing!?"

I turn back to face them, holding Elkena in my lap so that her back faces the other three.

"My name is Yuri," I speak softly to Elkena. "We're gonna help you, okay?" 

"Okay," she nods tearfully.

"How old are you, Elkena?" I ask, thinking fast to hold her attention.

"Five," she counts it on her fingers almost exclusively for her own view.

"Really? You speak English very well," I congratulate her warmly.

"Babysitter talks English," Elkena looks up. "She not come back, though."

"Where'd she go?" I question with a frown.

"Mama's in trouble," Elkena looks up, cowering and watching the fight. 

She can't seem to stay on the same topic for long, which frustrates me because I need to know more about what she's telling me.

Finally, a police vehicle rolls up.


	10. Warm

Walking home through the dark night and the frigid snow is already hard enough, but when adding the guilt and anxiety of leaving behind a defenseless five year old— to the mercy of Russia's adoption system— to the preexisting discomfort, the walk becomes next to impossible. Walking, in fact, becomes a trudge, and the trudge soon gives way to a less than motivated drifting. 

I don't see the worried text messages from Victor. He wants me to come home and get some sleep for tomorrow morning's competition. He also wants me to get out of the cold and come to bed. Even more than that, he wants to apologize for sending me out by myself. I don't even notice the messages, however, to know to respond to him. He's in tears and on the verge of calling the police by the time I finally make it through the front door.

"Bikuta-chan (Victor)?" I call heavily, weakly trying to leave my angst and my jacket at the door.

"Yuuri!" I hear the footsteps first, Victor's accompanied by Makkachin's, scrambling as they both greet me at once. "Yuuri, I-I've been so worried about you!" he cries.

Hot tears spill over the collar of my shirt onto the skin of my neck as he says it, embracing me tightly in his arms. Makkachin has his own words with me, barking before nudging my leg with his head. Spent, tired, and wanting nothing more than to crumble in Victor's arms, I give into tears as well. I'm a clammy and freezing cold mess without even a gift, as I was sent out to retrieve, to show for my trouble. Victor notices, but doesn't question me now. He bundles me into his arms and carries me upstairs.

Everything happens as if in a dream. He sets me in front of the fireplace, helping me out of my cold, wet clothes into warm, dry material. And then sits with me, Makkachin also coming to bask in the warmth with us.

"Yuura," he takes me into his lap as he says it, sharing his body heat, "tell me. What happened while you were out."

All I can do is sigh heavily. I don't know where to start. I take another deep breath and let the words go as quickly or slowly as they come to me, surprising even myself with some of what I say.

"I ran into Otabek and Yurio, on my way in and their way out of the shopping complex," I begin shakily. "Yuri was screaming his head off at someone— like he always is— but it seemed serious," I recall, "so I stopped to see what was the commotion all about."

I falter there, stopping to rub my eyes. Victor kisses my neck once as an encouragement to continue. Grateful for his warmth and his love, I absentmindedly bring my hand up to rub in his hair fondly before continuing. I glance over to see his eyes, hooded by his bangs, and I wish I hadn't. Victor looks so worried he might start crying again. The sight unwillingly brings tears to my own eyes, and I fight to keep them from spilling onto my cheeks, but I lose the fight as soon as my mouth opens again.

"Yurio was trying to protect a little girl," I choke. I can feel Victor's surprise like electricity, but he doesn't say anything, allowing me to continue. "Her mom was hitting her with an empty glass bottle when Yurio caught her," I pause to take a desperate breath through incoming sobs. "She was covered in so much blood she couldn't keep her face clean of it. And I didn't want to leave her alone, Victor. I didn't want to leave her there."

I can feel Victor's warm hold of me tighten protectively as he listens. If I look into his eyes again, I know I'll only lose the ability to speak due to wracking waves of guilt and grief, so I look into the fire before speaking again. It takes me a few heartbeats to work up the strength to form intelligible words.

"She's five years old." I break down here. "I picked her up and talked to her while Otabek called the police. The moment I saw her and held her in my arms, I just wanted to help her. I wanted to take her home and let her stay with us..." I whisper meekly. "Even we could love her better than her mother. And even she loved me— a stranger— more than her mother, the instant we made eye-contact."

"What happened to her?" Victor pushes softly.

"Sh-she's going through social work and legal proceedings for the next several months, and then she'll be up for adoption."

"Mm..." he mumbles. "Well, Yuuri, we can't adopt her," Victor sighs, "as an unmarried gay couple in Russia."

I wipe my face and look up at him. A glint of hope begins to rise in my chest.

"Are you implying we could adopt her another way?"


	11. Pressure !

"Perhaps, several years from now," Victor pauses to kiss the side of my face, "we will be married, and able to adopt through an international agency?"

Just the idea of it lifts me up a bit. Marrying Victor, whether it be a public or private affair, requires that I win gold or perhaps second only to Victor himself, if he's willing to settle. If I can just do that, perhaps Victor could come back to Japan with me— or conceivably, we could live wherever we think best to start a family— and life would be golden. There's just a matter of taking all the right steps to get that far. 

But I can't shake Elkena out of my head. I want to help her, not just any random child. Maybe, though, we could do both? Stay in touch with Elkena and have a child of our own? I bite my lip at the idea. I look to Victor.

"That's a lot of pressure on winning this season," I sigh, cuddling closer to his chest. He grabs a tighter hold of me and lifts me into bed with him, laying me down gingerly.

"A little bit of pressure is good for you, Yuura," Victor lies down beside me, pressing himself against my back mischievously. "Keeps you motivated."

"Hm," I settle into this position slowly. "Somebody is 'motivated' right now," I tease.

"Don't patronize me," Victor groans. "Now that the season has started, I shouldn't— it would be almost like cheating if I were to fuck you— but it's late at night, and your presence is heavenly, and I'm so happy you're back—"

"Haha," I press seductively closer. "Believe me, Vitya, I know."

Victor mutters a short Russian curse word that I almost recognize but I definitely couldn't pronounce. Ever the Eros of this relationship, I roll over to face him and push my groin against his. The helpless release of a guttural groan indicates his approval. I have him, now what to do with him?

"Do that again," I implore, climbing over him and grinding against him with far more urgency than before.

Victor gasps, clutching the sheets for dear life. I take his hands from their defensive position, however, and direct them to more intimate regions as I sit up, perched over him hungrily. I bite my lip, a momentary lapse in confidence, while I direct one hand to rest on my ass. He smirks, immediately squeezing. The other hand, I allow him to use for his own fondling purposes, because I choose to lean back just slightly enough to expose everything he wants to see and pleasure myself. 

For several heartbeats, I'm afraid what I've done is too erotic because Victor seems incapable of making a humanlike sound. I let go of myself and use both hands to prop myself into a low hover above Victor. His starlit blue eyes gleam with an emotion close to desperation.

"Fuck," Victor huffs.

In this position, I am almost tempted to push his knees up and back and indeed fuck. But as Victor said before, we should refrain from forcing each other into such a skating handicap. I bite my lip as I wonder what I can do for him. Ever the Femme Fatale in this relationship, I decide to press a tender kiss to his lips in the middle of all this manly lusting.

The kiss feels so good it almost hurts. Victor simply tastes like home and, as we conform to the sensation of a masterful kiss, his body feels like home too. Several small groans and moans escape our lips as they work together to make love in a way our bodies can't. In the rosy light of our beautiful embrace, my tongue finds Victor's, inviting his to dance. And for one small eternity, everything is perfectly fine.

*****

The feelings of security and comfort I feel with Victor do not always extend onto the ice. I often feel the pressure to win like a ball and chain when I prepare for a jump. It is only by the grace of a merciful God that I somehow land those jumps. I refer to some sort of God a lot, but I don't put much thought into whatever I believe. I just know that whatever it is I believe in works, and it doesn't seem to care whether I totally screw up or totally screw Victor. Whether it's the power of love, myself, Victor, determination, a deity of some kind, or the universe itself, something in here or out there is good. Hopeful idea-fragments like these take me through each performance in such a way that I usually come out in one piece. 

And then before I know it, I'm stood in the center of the ice, posing breathlessly and searching for the emotion on Victor's face to gauge how well I did. We are both more professional than we were last season, about how we hold ourselves in front of the crowd, but tonight Victor looks at me differently.

He's ready to marry me, I realize.


	12. Ready

I'm almost disappointed when Victor doesn't get down on one knee in front of the cameras and everyone, but I understand why he doesn't. I don't think our fans or even our friends truly understand the depth of the relationship between Victor and me. They all claim to "ship us," and Phichit is the Victuuri poster boy. But if it were to actually be announced that Victor and I are, in fact, in love and we truly are just as crazy about one another as they all hope we are, resentment and judgement might very well trundle into our daily lives.

Thus, even though I've won the gold and accomplished everything I wanted, my heart is still heavy with pressure and ever-present anxiety. Victor doesn't say something until we're finally back in Japan, eating dinner quietly. Perhaps he was able to ignore all other signs of something wrong with me until now, while I push around the contents of my pork cutlet bowl, unable to eat.

"Yuuri, something's up when you won't even eat your pork cutlet... please talk to me," Victor breaks the silence awkwardly, looking around for my parents or my sister.

I wonder whether he searches for the clearance of their presence or simply seeks there guidance. A heavy silence falls over us for a brief moment when he finds no evidence of anyone else within earshot. Victor has never been one for talking. He normally just makes me feel better, so he struggles, now, to find the right words to ask me what's wrong.

"I'm alright, Vitya," I shrug, standing up to empty my bowl.

Victor stares at me in shock. I can feel his gaze on my neck like waves ebbing in and out of anxiety and fear. I'm scaring Victor, and I don't honestly mean to be. The thing is, I don't know how to tell him what's wrong— it seems we've forgotten all about Elkena, over the course of preparing for the recently finished season on the ice, and I have no idea if she's even still alive. I release a heavy sigh and look down at the ring on my finger; it glimmers gently when I roll my hand.

"Do you remember the weekday before Georgi's surprise birthday party, when I came home late?" I ask finally, coming back to sit beside Victor again.

"I do," Victor's eyebrows knit together in concern. "You were worried about an encounter with a small child."

"Yeah," I say distantly, looking down and away. "I still am."

"Oh, Yuura, don't suppress that kind of thing from me," Victor scolds gently. "Has she been on your mind since the night it happened?"

For lack of words to explain myself, I just nod weakly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Victor's ring glint in the dying sunlight of dusk. I swallow hard and try my best not to cry in the middle of my family's inn. I'm sure the moment I do, my parents and sister and everyone staying here would all come out at once just to see. I'd rather avoid that scene and I think Victor would too.

"Yuuri, I'm not opposed to starting a family with you," Victor says finally. I look up at him in breathless surprise, willing him to continue. "I haven't been forwardly suggesting the idea," he admits, "because we are still yet to be married, and yet to settle in a permanent residence, and you still have another four years worth of consecutive gold medals to earn," he adds lightly, "but just because we aren't ready now doesn't mean we can't become... ready now."

His turbulent oceanic eyes glimmer with tears. I hope they're joyful tears, or the kind that come when someone is just so overcome with love their body has to expel the power of it somehow or another. I wonder if the tears aren't sadness, though. There's really only one way to find out, I realize.

"Victor, I love you," I hardly get the words out before he's crying into my chest.

I look around, waiting for the world to judge us, but it's still only Victor and me. I wipe at my own bleary eyes and wrap my arms around him. 

"I mean that," I manage. "I've never loved anybody else the way I love you."

Victor crumbles. I have him, I realize, and now I need to figure out what to do with him. I think I only have one choice, though.

"We're doing this, right? When do you want to get married?" I ask softly.


	13. Marriage !

The more we think about it together, the more we decide against a public ceremony. Victor explains that his parents are toxically racist and homophobic. His sympathetic older sister won't take any side for or against the parents, leaving Victor to his own for the past few years. He would rather approach his parents with a set-in-stone legal document, first, before letting them disown him entirely, only to turn around and make a huge celebration out of it with everyone else later.

And it's that simple. The next day, we come home with a marriage certificate and legally hyphenated last names (Katsuki-Nikiforov, of course.) We spend the rest of the morning in a local coffee shop, talking over our decision and how to move forward.

"We ought to settle in Japan. And I'll retire, then," Victor volunteers cheerfully, "to be the stay-at-home dad, when the time comes."

"Imagine the world's surprise," I smirk. 

"My world is just a little smaller, now," Victor blushes, spinning the ring on his finger once.

I nod and offer a small smile. Victor chuckles and reaches out to take one of my hands. I allow it for a moment, and then lower my cup of coffee with my other hand, searching his eyes. Surprise tingles at every nerve ending when I see unadulterated joy in those sparkling blue eyes. It's as if the most heavy and painful part of his life has been erased and replaced, and I couldn't be happier to be that replacement for him.

"I'm gonna cry, stoppit," I laugh, pulling my hand away to rub at my eyes.

"What?" Victor demands coyly. "Aren't I allowed to caress my own husband?"

"Vitya," I groan. "I'm gonna melt right into my macchiato or something," I lift the cup again.

"Mm," Victor nods and leans away. "Fine, fine. I'll just never touch you— wait— not even look at you again," he teases, turning his body outward from the table.

"Nmm— wait!" I feign panic. "I take it back," I plead, unable to resist small fits of laughter. "Please, Victor, I love your eyes."

He gives me a sly sidelong glance. 

"Oh?" 

I bite my lip to staunch a sexual reply. He must see the physical pain on my face. Or perhaps the biting of my lip is signal enough, in and of itself.

"We should take this conversation somewhere more private," the shameless desire in his voice provides all the heat I need to indeed melt right into my macchiato.

"Okay," I agree hastily.

*****

Maybe it's the joy of finally being married, or maybe it's the lustful tension we've felt ever since signing our relationship into legal recognition. But as far as Victor and I are concerned, skipping practice for a day, to instead consecrate our marriage in the middle of the afternoon, seems like a perfectly fine idea. We can hardly wait to close the door to our room, lips locked and bodies humping the moment the door swings shut. The sound of the lock clicking seems to give my erect want clearance to pitch a tight tent in the material of my pants. Oh God, I can already feel ecstasy rising.

Victor groans, his tongue sliding into my mouth as he helps me out of my pants. I find myself intermittently panting between lapses in the kiss while our hands roam and tug away clothing. Time slows down, it seems, and as if in slow motion, I am pulling Victor into bed with me.

We are completely and utterly exposed, but I, in no way, feel vulnerable or cold. Indeed, I could not physically stand to feel any hotter than I do now, and I don't think I feel safer anywhere other than within reach of Victor's arms. Before I'm even aware of the situation, Victor is positioned before me, ready to be entered. He faces me, knees pulled up, body glistening with anticipatory sweat, and chest rising and falling erratically. 

The last article to be removed is my pair of glasses. Victor smoothes back my hair as I climb over him, already biting my lip and groaning. I almost don't know where to start— every part of him looks so tempting. I could repeat any of what we've already tried, but I like to keep Victor guessing. So I lean over him and grant him another long engrossing kiss but pull away just as his hands start to pull me into him.

He watches me dismount him entirely and move away from the bed in amused bewilderment. He knows I have something up my sleeve, the question is only what I plan to do. I think he'll catch on when I return from the bathroom with a Trojan wrapper glinting between my fingers.


	14. Ring !

I'm fairly certain I picked up the habit from Victor himself, but I like surprising him. This will definitely take him by surprise. Though, he probably gets the wrong idea when I pair the condom with scissors from the nightstand drawer. 

"I don't know whether to be terrified or interested," Victor chuckles, shaking his head.

"Have you ever worn a cock ring, Vitya?" I ask absentmindedly, mischievously ignoring the comment while I work.

The wrapper comes away easily in my teeth, catching Victor's attention.

"No... but I'm starting to give way to fear now," Victor props himself up on his elbows.

I show him the next step, in an effort to be a little less ominously foreboding. I roll out the condom and cut away everything except the plastic at the base. Victor suddenly understands, when I throw away everything but the leftover ring of rubber. I fit the material around my thumb and forefinger and gesture for him to lie back again. 

"This isn't a 'real' one," I shrug, "but to orgasm around any sort of cock ring that isn't dangerous takes longer and feels better," I add seductively.

"Oh," is all he can breathlessly manage as I slip the band down to the base of his length. 

I don't let go of the thing, yet, though.

"Do you trust me, Vitya?" I ask seriously. "This is optional— and it'll come right off if it comes to be too intense," I search his deep blue eyes for any signs of doubt or fear. 

Victor meets my probing gaze with a look of lightsome intrigue. He replies that he of course trusts me and motions for me to continue. Obediently enough, I slip the ring around his cock and stop at his base. He moans as soon as the rubber leaves my fingers. And then all at once, we pick up where we left off.

Victor positions himself vulnerably beneath me. His length is already longer and harder than before. Sultrily, I may begin the torture, one hand fondling his turgid want while I raise my other toward his chin. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch as he takes two of my fingers into his mouth and sucks. 

I can hardly keep still, it all feels so good. Imagining his tongue around my own cock the way it glosses over and around my fingers threatens to overcome all senses of self-control. But I know better than to give in too soon— my stamina is better than that too.

Almost remorsefully, I remove my fingers from his mouth and use his saliva as a sort of lubricant, rubbing small circles up and down very intimate regions with the warm fluid. Victor is rendered almost helpless, moaning and pleading, half in a language I can understand and half in something slurred and breathlessly enunciated (probably Russian.) I give him a slick once over. 

"I have the sexiest husband in the world," I lean in to whisper in his ear.

The statement is punctuated with my first hard thrust into him. One might think I'd mashed Victor's fingers under a cement brick, he cries out so helplessly. His chest rises and falls erratically and his arms firmly pull me into the writhing mass of skin. We are easily entangled, bodies and words crumpling into each other like a ball of paper.

Inculcating myself, pushing in and out of him, feels better than anything I've ever felt in my life— and I've eaten pork cutlet bowls. Pulling away from an intense kiss, I can see Victor seems on the verge of ecstasy— and I know I am approaching rhapsody as well— but the sound of my cellphone buzzing interrupts the mood. I blush apologetically, blindly sitting up and reaching to turn it off; but Victor catches my hand and pulls me back in. Had I gotten to see the caller-ID, I would have answered it immediately. But I don't get to see it for another few breathless minutes.


	15. Messages

After relentless texts, my phone finally gives way to the non-stop vibration of incoming text messages. Victor and I look at one another and groan. We finally break away so that I can put an end to the noise. I'm expecting the sender to be Phichit or something dumb exploding on Instagram, but it's Yurio.

My heart clenches.

I scroll through the messages, most of them spam to answer my phone, but I finally come across a few messages near the bottom with substance. In proper order it reads:

Today 11:35 PM

hey asshole this is urgent   
Read 11:41 PM

an adoption agency called me saying a little girl is asking about "yuri the ice skater"   
Read 11:41 PM

they want to know if one of us feel like adopting her   
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i don't want a kid and im too young anyway  
Read 11:41 PM

they want your number can i give it to them?  
Read 11:41 PM

uhm hold on sorry this is late  
Delivered 11:42 PM

I carefully lift my eyes to meet Victor's steady gaze. 

Is it Elkena? Did she remember me? Whoever it is must have seen Yurio and me on someone's television. How long has Elkena been waiting for me to remember her?

"Yuuri," Victor frowns, pushing closer in order to read the texts over my shoulder.

I hollowly hand him the phone. His face hardens, as it does when he's thinking hard. One hand comes to rest on his chin as he scrolls. The sight of him is mesmerizing. I watch every silver hair weigh forward into his eyes before tenderly brushing them aside for him. When he finally looks up at me, I can tell he has already made a decision.

"This is fast," he hands back the phone as if handing me the keys to a car he is reluctant to loan. "And it will not be easy," his face is stolid. "Are you ready for a commitment like this, Yuuri?"

I look between the phone and Victor. This is not what I thought post-sex was going to be like tonight. I bite my lip and look down. 

I suddenly want to rethink the decision to be a father.

Victor is right, but he's not trying to talk me out of it, I don't think. I think he's trying to put me in the right mindset, like himself. It's crazy how he can think so quickly. I admire that about him, but I envy him it more than anything at this moment.

I don't know what I feel ready for, I still feel too shocked to think straight. I do want to help Elkena. I want to. But is it her? Does it matter?

"Don't overthink it, Yuuri," Victor chastises, resting his head on my shoulder. "You'd be a wonderful father. And despite this being fast, it won't be instantaneous— we'll have time to prepare."

"You think we could do it?" I swallow a hard lump in my throat.

"Yes," Victor replies earnestly.

Knowing that Victor believes in me clears my head. Perhaps it'd be easier in the long run to be like Yurio and say no thank you. But Yurio and I are very different people. So there's my decision. I guess. I'll tell him he can give the agency Victor's and my contact information. 

took you long enough asshole  
Read 11:45 PM

The sudden text surprises both Victor and me. I blink hard, though, and begin typing a swift response.

sorry  
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ill talk to the agency tho  
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i doubt theyll answer the phone at this hour but ill give you their number hold on  
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thanks yurio  
Delivered 

A moment passes before a screenshot of the agency's website comes through alongside an angry:

dONT FUCKING CALL ME THAT  
Read 11:50 PM


	16. Angel

When the morning comes, I make the phone call. More accurately, I intend to make the phone call before realizing the agency is based in Russia and I should let Victor do the talking. Victor compromises by putting the phone on speaker and acting as a constant translator. 

"She wants to know how soon we can start taking child care classes." Victor scratches his head and turns to me.

"Where would those be?"

Victor emulates the question and the woman perkily responds.

"Online," shrugs Victor, running a hand through his angelic silver hair. "Anything face-to-face we find in our area would not hurt, but they are not requiring," his accent growing heavier, I notice, as he switches back and forth between languages.

"Well, I can start this weekend. Does that work for you, Victor?"

"Mm," he nods, immediately jumping into a Russian reply.

I ruefully wish Victor would teach me Russian.

The conversation lasts forever, or it seems that way. We establish the important things, at least as much of the important things that can be established over the first phone call. The rest will be slowly taken care of after Victor goes back to Russia for a visit. Only one of us has to go, apparently, but I am welcome to come if I choose. Victor wants me to keep up my practicing, though, here in Japan. Officially retired as he is, he gets to go meet the girl first.

That's the other thing we established. Elkena was adopted by her grandmother just a month or so ago. She didn't leave before telling all the other children there about her encounter with Yurio and I, however. Only one much older girl seemed to care about Elkena's experience or bother to remember her story. She's the link, pregnant with the baby in question. 

Her name will be Valkyrie, a surprisingly acceptable name to go with Victor and Yuri. That being said, Victor and I have a lot to think about when the call finally ends.

"I need to skate," Victor shakes his head as if to clear it, his accent heavier than ever.

"Me too," I admit, stretching uncomfortably. "It's almost noon— we were in that call for a while."

"Mm," Victor nods, haphazardly tossing my phone aside and taking the opportunity to finally lay back in our bed. "On second thought maybe I'll just stay here for a while," he curls into the blankets.

Victor sighs contentedly, motioning for me to join him. I carefully lay down next to him, wary not to get too comfortable. He's got a look in his eye that tells me he's got energy to burn. I'm not entirely sure I want him sexed up if we're about to go skating. As if on cue, however, we suddenly collapse into an intense, tongue-heavy kiss. 

For several heartbeats, the only thing my mind can process is kissing Victor. Just as the kiss begins to hint at underlying sexual desires, however, a ray of sunlight graces my skin with a gentle warm embrace. Morning light suddenly hits the window just right. 

I can feel the warmth of the sun on parts of my face and my arms, so I tenderly pull away to see what the light does to the room. I swear by my life, when I open my eyes, Victor is the only thing I see. The light glowing around his shoulders and creating a perfect halo above his head look like that of a real life celestial creature. I swallow hard and try not to cry as a sudden tidal wave of emotion surges over my eyes. Merciful Creator, he's perfect.

"Yuri?" he frowns. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I choke. "Yes. I— I just... God. I love you, Victor," I suddenly burst into tears. "Fuck—" I wipe at my eyes. "I'm such a crybaby. I'm sorry— I just— God, you're wonderful. Please don't ever leave me." I sound pathetic.

Victor's eyes glisten for a minute, though. He smiles broadly, pulling me in for another slower, closer kiss. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I'm kissing an angel. I don't know how else to describe the feeling. As a kid, I worshipped Victor, and somehow, as an adult, I've managed to marry him.

Dreams that I never even knew I had in me just keep coming true around Victor. Whether it's Victor, or love, or something else entirely doesn't really matter to me. At this moment, everything is heavenly.


	17. Minako

"Thanks again, Yuuri," Minako sighs, turning back to face me. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"No problem, Minako," I reply, rubbing the back of my neck uncomfortably, looking down.

"You sure you want to do this, Yuuri?" she leans against the doorframe and lifts an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, of course. I've done it before for you," I say too fast.

Now Minako is really on to me. She squints and menaces up to me. Her eyes glint in the early morning light. Her footsteps are soft against the polished studio flooring.

"You're hiding something.... I get the feeling it's not anything to do with taking over my dance class for a week," she rubs her chin, eyeing me suspiciously. "Out with it."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I stammer.

Minako backs me against the mirrored wall with a hard glare. When she speaks again, her voice is scarcely less than a growl.

"I said out with it, Katsuki."

"I don't know what you want me to say!" I flinch.

She leans back and crosses her arms.

"I'll wait."

"Don't you have somewhere to be—?"

"Ah-bah!" She motions for me to zip it. "I'm waiting for an explanation."

I sigh. "I'm not hiding anything, Minako."

"Oh? What's been going on with you and Victor lately?" she lifts an eyebrow. "You've been doing an awful lot of 'training.'"

A hot blush dusts my face. I don't know what to say but I have to say something. I make the mistake of blinking before I speak. Minako interrupts before I even get any words out.

"You aren't 'training' after all!" she accuses. "I knew it!"

She jumps up into a self-celebrating arabesque. I facepalm, trying to keep my cool. I try again to shut her down, but she cuts me off.

"So-o... Is he good in bed?" The blush on my face is all the response she needs. She gasps in excitement. "So hot," she whispers, covering her face with her hands.

"Minako..." I mutter. "Alright, alright. You caught me, okay? Victor and I have been married—"

"WHAT!?" she shrieks.

"— for a little while now..."

"WHA-AT!?"

"Uhm. We're in the process of adopting too—"

"WHA-A-AT!?"

"Minako, if you'd let me finish—"

"Right, right, sorry. You know what— fill me in later. I have to tell everyone."

She starts to pull out her cellphone and walk away.

"Minako, no, please don't do that," I race after her. "I agreed to sub your dance class while you leave— please agree to respect my privacy in return?"

Minako looks taken aback, lowering her cell phone. 

"Hm," she purses her lips and taps her chin, thinking. 

I debate whether to let myself actually get angry or not if she says no. I'm sure it wouldn't be the end of the world, and maybe it is time to go forward and publicly announce our marriage, but that decision does not belong to her, no matter how prevalent she was and still is in my life.

"Does Mari know?" she asks. 

I shake my head and shrug. I haven't told my sister, but it's possible moving out of the inn to buy our own apartment was a huge clue.

"What about your skating friends? Does Phichit know?"

"Uh... Yurio and Otabek know," I admit, in as small a voice as possible, because I know what's coming.

"You told Yurio and Otabek but not your favorite dance instructor!?"

"It's not what you think, they had to know because—"

"Save it," she smirks. "I'm messing with you."

When I don't laugh outright, but exhale in relief, her face softens. She looks down.

"I'm sorry, Yuri," she mumbles. "I'm happy for you, kid. Anyway, I really appreciate what you're doing for me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Don't mention it," I shrug, blushing. "I learned everything I know about dancing from the best of the best, after all," I wink.

"Damn right," she beams proudly. "Let me know how things went when I come back, okay? They have a recital coming up and—"

"I know," I laugh. "So you said. Enjoy your trip, Minako. I know you haven't seen your family in a while..."

She shuts me up with a hug. 

"Bye, Mr. Nikiforov," she calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

"It's Katsuki-Nikiforov." 

I wave her off with a small chuckle.


	18. Sweet !

The summer is slowly giving way to fall. Minako's summer dance classes are light and easy to teach. She'll be back when the wind changes, but I'm not sure I want to give up teaching her girls. Victor, teaching his own ice skating classes for children, laughs at me as I complain.

"I love Minako— I do— but I don't want her to come back," I mumble into his chest.

"Mm," I feel the reverberations of his hum in his chest. "If you're that passionate about teaching now, you're welcome to visit my classes, Yuura," he chuckles.

"It wouldn't be the same," I whine. 

I flop into his lap, flipping onto my back. I look up at him from this position upside down, pouting. Victor fights to maintain a sympathetic look. The glimmer of an amused smile betrays him as he rubs a hand through my hair. His eyes are still laughing at me. 

He never wins at this game— trying to remain collected while I tease him— no matter how innocent the discussion seems to be.

"Oh?" Victor lifts an eyebrow. "What would be different?"

"I've been teaching these same girls for several weeks now, and I've honestly become attached. They're all so different but they're all so good in their own ways. There's so much potential— I just like watching them grow."

"Mm. Fair enough, I suppose," he bequeaths.

I nod and cuddle closer into his chest.

"You're adorable, Yuuri-kun," Victor looks down at me, fondly caressing my cheek. "I watched you grow, you know," he adds softly.

I blush deeply, taken by surprise. 

"What? As an ice skater?" I whisper.

"Yes," he answers, low and cool, "but not just that." He leans down to press a sweet kiss to my lips. "I watched you find yourself and grow as a person and a lover," he whispers in my ear.

"You say that as if you just idly observed," I mumble around his lips as another kiss comes. "The only reason I grew at all was because of your love, Vitya," and that does it.

Victor is suddenly on top of me, and we are no longer snuggling sweetly on the couch. He kisses me again, his tongue emulating the way we dance on the ice. Sharp, gliding twists and loops command my tongue to follow his lead, each meeting of our lips acting as the rhythm of the dance. I'm captivated and enthralled.

"I love you," Victor groans between kisses.

"Oh— Vi-ctor— I love you so much," I manage, pleasure rising as his hips begin to circle suggestively.

"Can I take you to bed?" Victor whispers in my ear, his lusty voice lifting goose flesh all the way down to my fingertips.

"P-please do," I breathlessly agree.

Picking me up so that our chests are still pressed together and my legs wrap comfortably around his waist, I tighten my grip around Victor's shoulders— feeling like the little kid that first fell in love with Victor. For a few seconds, I'm fairly certain this is the most comforting position in which I could possibly find myself. Makkachin noisily comes running, however, as soon as Victor takes one step away from the couch. The brown poodle barks dutifully, ever in my best interest whenever Victor holds me captive. 

"Easy, boy, I'm safe," I laugh.

Makkachin sits, looking up inquisitively, as if to ask really? Effectively nailing a hole in our moment of passion, Victor lets me down to reward Makkachin for checking up on me. Eager to get the ball rolling again, I hardly get the treat out of the jar and into Makkachin's jaw before Victor is impatiently scooping me out of the kitchen. 

Halfway to the bedroom, I begin pushing several sloppy kisses up Victor's cheek toward his ear. He moans shamelessly when I reach the tender skin of his earlobe. Makkachin, at Victor's heels, whines too with Victor's husky vocalizations.

"I need you," he mumbles around the soft skin of my neck.

After an affectionate pat to Makkachin's head, Victor closes the door and drops me into an ocean of scattered blue blankets and puce pillows. Victor overtakes me like a tidal wave, hungrily helping me out of my clothes. The clothes come away so fast, at the mercy of his oceanic push and pull, I am in no way prepared for his lips to touch my skin again.

My back arches and my legs widen desperately as Victor suddenly takes every inch of my erect want past his warm, wet lips. He only holds me for a moment, as if only to steal my breath, before kissing all the way up to my neck, pace tortuously ebbing into something methodical and slow. God, he's teasing me. I suddenly need him more than I thought possible tonight.

"Victor— fuck!" I gasp.

"You want me to?" Victor breathes in my ear. 

"Please, Vitya," I beg breathlessly. "I need you."

"Mm, whatever you want, Yuura," he murmurs, voice thick and sweet as honey. 

"Mm-mm..." I bite my lip.

sorry for the crappy stopping place but 900 words is already a lot for these kind of chapters and these lovey lovers are not nearly through loving so the next chapter will be a continuation ❤


	19. Swallow !

I swallow a hard lump in my throat. My lungs feel tight and incapable of breath.

"What do you want me to do, Yura?" that sugar-sweet voice worsens my suffocating torture tenfold. 

He knows I don't even have a chance at forming intelligent words, smirking as I struggle to produce sounds that even resemble humanlike utterances. I finally manage an ungodly primal phrase in Japanese. Victor raises an eyebrow at my moment of weakness.

"What was that you said in the middle there?" he breathes in my ear.

"Ah-- unh-- I-I said something like 'please, give me your-- your...'" I trail off and swallow my rising moans.

"My what?" Victor presses, the knowing smile turning upwards the edges of his lips.

"It was a sort of colloquialism for big cock," I admit quickly, face reddening, hiding my shame at a 2¢ word with a 5¢ word.

Victor pushes himself between my legs, gracing my turgid length with the touch of his own soft skin. No matter the act he is still teasing me with the simple presence of his thigh to my groin. He has me panting and gasping for air, his name tumbling from my lips in several repeated broken syllables. 

"Mm... Vi-- unh-- Victor-- oh! Please, please! Vity-ah! I-I need you..."

My lover is still teasing me. I don't know how much more I can take before I'll start raking my nails down his back. As if reading my mind, Victor encourages my arms to wrap around his waist while he plunges merciless lovebites on and around my clavicle. 

"Victor!" I gasp when his hand suddenly grasps my throbbing erection. His only response is the quick flick of his wrist, sending me careening over the edge of self-control. "Oh-- a-ah!-- Vitya, ple-please," I moan, only lightly drawing my nails down at first.

Victor releases the goddamn sexiest moan that I've ever heard in my life. His lips fly to my ear, breathlessly begging, "Harder!"

Supplied with more than enough motivation, I score my nails all the way down from his shoulders to the small of his back, where my hands shamelessly linger around that Adonis-like ass. Victor is no longer holding anything back to tease me, suddenly he is pulling me to the end of the bed.

"Насосать (nasosat')," he instructs, a phrase I recognize to simply mean suck. He reaches around me and presents two fingers once I flip onto my stomach.

I take both long fingers obediently, swirling my tongue around and sucking harder than he was expecting, I can tell. I hum around him mischievously.

"Got what you need?" I mumble around his hand.

I don't catch what he mutters, but I don't think I need to-- I already know what he wants to do. He almost reluctantly removes his fingers from my mouth and uses the saliva to slick me up and stretch me out. Damn me if anything feels better than this. But as Victor pushes his solid length in lieu of his fingers, I think I ought to be thrown through the fiery gates of tempestuous Hell. 

My muscles tense and un-tense and tense again at the sudden arrival of Victor inside my body. His presence is strong and warm and I think I love it...? The pain is lesser to the pleasure, but I find myself still blinking back rivulets of tears as he hammers his erection deeper and stronger. I dig my nails into the mattress for support.

I quickly gain a good handhold but as my hips currently are, the mattress creaks with every one of Victor's powerful thrusts. Before I can even widen my stance properly, Victor suddenly pulls out. The mischief on his face worries me, although the look of steady desire twinkling in his eyes reassures me that I have not lost him.

I swallow hard, unsure what to expect.

"Have you ever done a sixty-nine?"

"Victor, you know you're my first--"

"Good, because I want to try that with you," Victor beams.

I blush, biting down on my lip.

"Alright..." I shrug, already feeling beyond sinful-- why not add this to my resume when judgement day comes?

I allow Victor to position me because he clearly has the reigns tonight. He is surprisingly gentle with me for this much, however. Waves of nervous and lusty emotions crash together like a violent storm in my stomach as Victor guides my painfully throbbing erection past his heavenly lips. The sudden warm and wet sensations tingling up and down my lower body take me by surprise and threaten to overwhelm me. Almost in an effort to regain control, or maybe pacify myself, I mouth Victor's turgid length. 

I'm shaking-- whether from pleasure or fear or both, I honestly can't say. But I don't have to know, not at this instant. All I have to do-- want to do, really-- is pleasure Victor. And so I focus all my energy into sucking him off. I quickly discover, however, that I can't rack up the heat without Victor-- that competitive prick-- matching or 1-upping my intensity.

Now it's a game of who will cum first. 

At the idea of competing with Victor at this, my mind numbs. My mouth feels dry, probably a result of frazzled nerves. I impulsively swallow and attempt to moisten my lips, almost managing to somehow forget Victor's large presence in my mouth. His whole body shudders as I swallow around his cock. 

Victor pulls away to huskily mumble colorful curses into the static air.

"Unh!" I hear him grunt from his end as his lips reconnect to my want for him.

The sensation of his voice around my cock immediately sparks jolting bouts of electricity up along my spine. His tongue suddenly picks up a new dance, sending my lower half into numbing bliss. Picking up on Victor's game, I swallow again-- this time on purpose. He has my engines roaring, though. I'm not sure if I'll beat him at the rate he has my liquid pleasure racing to erupt.

"Anh!" I hear again. "U-unh!" He finally pulls away long enough to shout, "Fuck! I'm cumming, Yura!"

Rather triumphantly, I swallow his release, allowing him to ride out the wave of pleasure with a bit of motion from his hips. Rather appropriately, and in good taste, I follow almost instantly. 

Damn, I think to myself, that was hot.


	20. Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if y'all read all my stuff or not, but i've been writing all* of these YOI fanfics— er, most*— on the same timeline. so in case you haven't read it in my Adoption AU, imma edit Pillow Talk a bit and put it here. if you already read it, then you can either get a refresher because that was a bit ago or you can go on to the next update. idrc, i mean, it's your life. thanks for reading!

Time Skip For Now

Setting her down in the crib, I always feel a twinge of loss. As if I'm leaving my own heart in another room. So I linger, routinely, partially to watch for any signs of struggle breathing or seizures or an SVT attack. But she is a peaceful sleeper.

"Goodnight, Valkyrie," I whisper, double-checking and then triple-checking the baby monitor before gently closing the door to the nursery.

Victor is still making our own bed, Makkachin nipping at his heels while he lays out the sheets. 

"How is our валькирия (Valkyrie/Valkyriya)?" Victor smiles through the exhaustion etched like wrinkles into his young visage. His accent is thicker when he's tired, but his question is light and his eyes are bright with their usual happiness.

"Sound asleep," I reply, "you wanna take a peek before we nod off?"

Victor comes round and presses an affectionate kiss to my lips before shrugging a sort of "be right back" statement in sleepy Russian. I resume his work making the bed. Makkachin looks up at me hopefully once I've finished. Those puppy dog eyes are so hard to resist.

"Okay, fine," I acquiesce, squeezing under the freshly made bedsheets and patting the empty space beside me. 

The smell of clean sheets is dampened by the doggy smell of Makkachin as he jumps up. Victor returns moments later with a sleepy yawn and a skeptical look toward Makkachin and me.

"I've been replaced by my own dog!" he whines in feigned indignation.

"Come here, Vitya," I grumble, opening my arms.

He perks up as he nestles on top of me. He smells like laundry detergent and dust-- a sure testament to the cleaning we've done today. I would give him a break from the housework for a day if it didn't mean he'd just have to watch the baby. We could probably use a babysitter....

Victor stretches briefly before curling up on my chest. I admire his lithesome fit against my body for several heartbeats. But he interrupts my thoughts with a ridiculous quip.

"If you were to call me Daddy now, would it still be kinky?" he yawns.

"Excuse me?" I laugh, his body rising up and down with my laughter.

Victor flops beside Makkachin-- after a short protest from the poodle. He snuggles into his pillow and offers me that famous look that only Victor Nikiforov can achieve. Then he playfully repeats his question.

"No," I affectionately cuff him over the ear, "of course not."

"But she's bound to call us Papa and Poppa," Victor cuddles up against me again. "Daddy is an entirely different word--"

"Do not corrupt our baby," I snicker, pushing him off. "If she heard that--"

"Come on, Daddy," Victor pleads, a sultry note entering his voice.

A twinge of desire shivers up and down my spine. I extend one hand to caress the available side of his face while I consider my next move. Victor melts into my tender touch then bubbles up for an eager kiss. Makkachin joins the fight to break down my reserve, weaving excitedly between our legs.

"Quiet, you," I warn the dog. "Don't wake little Valkyrie."

Makkachin seems to understand, sitting back and lolling his tongue quietly. Victor leans back to pat him on the head and congratulate him for being a good boy. Seemingly satisfied, Makkachin leaps down from the bed to take up his position on the floor where he can rest in his dog bed. 

"Okay, Daddy," I lift an eyebrow, addressing Victor. He lights up at my use of the word. "I'm ready to go to sleep, are you?"

He shakes his head vigorously.

"Oh?" I fail at every attempt to stifle the smirk splitting my face.

"Mm," Victor hums, climbing overtop me again. "Don't tell me you're too tired for a little loving?" he murmurs low, accent dark and thick. 

He knows exactly how to turn me on. Dammit. 

"Okay, Vitya," I acquiesce. "I'm all yours tonight. Just don't forget we can't wake the baby," I toss my head toward the baby monitor as a warning.

"Mm, of course," Victor promises, closing the gap between us with agile ease.


	21. Overstimulation !

I don't know where he finds the energy, but it's a little contagious. The way his lips brush against mine, transferring electricity like live wires, I could die and come back again. And then his hands shamelessly sneak beneath my pajamas. I jolt and shiver beneath his smooth caress.

"Oh, fuck," he moans in my ear, the overstimulation sending me plummeting over the edge of self-control. 

"A-ah," I gasp, his hand getting dangerously close to the hardening want in my pants. 

If it were possible, I'd say Victor has just increased the speed of my descent along that hypothetical cliff of self-control. I am intimately familiar with the feeling of collision and submersion beneath the sea of rhapsody at the bottom. I realize, as if awakening from a dream, that I'm just imagining the aureate sensations of sex— the hungry kiss of Victor's lips slowly ebbing my attention back to reality. 

Did the room get hotter while I was off in la la land? Has Victor's hand been vigorously pulling me off the entire time as well? These clothes are suddenly like a sweltering prison. I struggle to pull free of my clothes without breaking Victor's concentration, but he is eager to help my furtive endeavor. 

He pulls away, long enough to strip of his own clothes, the new swathes of skin each like their own glimmering reward as it comes into view. How is he still this damn attractive to me— shouldn't I be tired of this eventually? I don't need an answer right this second, though. I just need his cock, I think, fumbling with the pajamas as they go.

"Yuuri," he groans softly, "I want to make love to you."

I can hardly do more than nod, words formulating and dying in my throat. They surface only as guttural moans of pleasure. But I remember I have to tease him.

"Fuck me, Daddy," I beg, meaning it more than I intended.

"Yeah?" Victor doesn't even give me the opportunity to respond or prepare myself in anyway.

He hovers above me at just the right dominating angle, and inserts himself unapologetically without lubricant. I'm going to wake the baby, dammit. He'll pay for this in chores tomorrow, because Lord knows I won't be able to do them, I think in between bursts of erupting pain. But if I can keep quiet— fuck.

"Victor," I hiss, body bucking with his in an attempt to lessen the pain. "Fuck!" 

I inwardly curse myself for the loud outburst.

"Watch your language," he dares tease me. "And you'll wake the baby if you keep shouting."

Even stretched out from previous experience, as I am, his cock is still too thick for me to just take a harsh fucking. I know I'm bleeding by this point. It actually feels akin to being fucked with a cactus as the micro-tears form. But his hand is still dutifully wrapped around my own length and the dirty, fiery desire in my stomach likes this severity.

"Vitya," I moan, softer, resigning and letting pleasure overtake the ever-present pain.

This is starting to become nice in a gratifying, albeit harsh, kind of way. His free hand travels up my body slowly until it finds my chin. He caresses my face, slipping his tongue into my mouth for a long tango. The overstimulation confuses my nerves. I'm being pleasured and ripped apart and I'm burning up, but my circuitry can't decide which feeling should take precedence. Naturally, the more I try to focus on one, the more the others scream for attention.

Speaking of screaming—?

"Is that the baby monitor?" we pause to ask in breathless unison.


	22. Lullaby

"I'll go put her back to sleep," Victor offers, gingerly pulling out.

An ocean of mixed emotions swirls in at the loss of his presence. I want him to stay and complete me, but Valkyrie is crying for someone, and my body can finally relax if I let Victor go. I better let him, although I would like to go with him. Victor steps into a night robe and gives me a playful look, as if to say we aren't finished yet. 

Oh boy. Well, that settles that.

"Thank you, Vitya," I manage weakly as he leaves the bedroom.

If he wasn't physically tired before, he looked it just then. When he comes back to bed, perhaps I can just persuade him to cuddle with me. Yes, peaceful, adoring snuggles will do just fine. And just as I begin to relish the thought, the baby monitor pipes up with a new sound murmuring beneath the fretful crying.

"Hey, Kyriya," Victor coos. "Papa's here— what's the matter, huh?" As if Valkyrie could actually answer. "There, there," he must pick her up, because her screaming muffles into mere crying.

He begins to sing a soft Russian lullaby and my heart melts as I listen. Victor is such a good father, a fact which never ceases to amaze me. I don't know where he learned it because, from what he's told me, his parents were not the best at child rearing. But somehow, Victor is just a natural. I honestly don't know what I'd do if I somehow had to raise Valkyrie without him. 

The thought heralds a shudder down my spine. I lie back and try to forget the idea, telling myself Victor is here to stay while I cuddle a pillow determinedly. I don't have to worry, I know, but the anxiety is still there in the back of my brain. Dark images of me pushing him away suddenly fill my brain.

Next thing I know, I'm the baby that needs a lullaby. What's gotten into me? I can surely go ten minutes without Victor in arm's reach, can't I? But no matter how long he leaves temporarily, I know he'll come back. It's just a matter of patience. 

I'm fast asleep, still cuddling the pillow by the time Victor returns. 

"Well, look at that. Both of my babies are sound asleep," he yawns to a groggy Makkachin.

"Yuuri, darling," he nudges me gently. "You're spooning my pillow. I'd rather take its place, if you don't mind," he smiles affectionately as I blink up at him.

"Vitya," I yawn, releasing his pillow and stretching. 

"Mm?" he hums, climbing into the bed next to me.

"I love you," I grumble, cuddling into his warmth and sleepily kissing up his neck.

Makkachin pipes up a kind of agreement from the ground. Victor pats a place on his other side, inviting Makkachin to come up. Normally, I would insist that we didn't buy Makkachin a dog bed for nothing, but I sort of like all the sleepy cuddling. So I don't protest when the brown poodle joins us in bed.

"I love you, too, Yuura," he catches my lips in a slow kiss. 

"What lullaby were you singing to Valkyrie?" I yawn, adjusting and curling into his body.

"Which one?" he mumbles, amused.

"I must have fallen asleep during the first one," I admit.

"Mm," he hums, thinking. "Most of it doesn't translate well. But it's something to the effect of rest now, little one. Very repetitive, but that's probably what puts you both to sleep," he answers affectionately. 

"Mhm," I mumble, taking his wrists and pulling them so that his arms will wrap around me. He laughs, but settles to hug me for himself. "Can you sing to me?" I yawn.

"Would you like me to?" he exhales in my ear.

"Mhm," I squirm to push my butt into his hips. 

But I can't keep it up for long, he barely gets a note out before I've turned to face him again and get in the way of his singing with an inundation of kisses around his face. I fall asleep to his intermittent lullaby and laughter, wrapped snugly in his arms.


	23. Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unedited but an update was long over-do, sorry in advance for any cringe-worthy mistakes

*****

"Victor, love, don't let dear Kyrie put that in her mouth," I scold him gently, lifting an eyebrow as I lower a handful of produce into the cart.

Both Victor and Valkyrie simultaneously turn toward me innocently. I remove the jingling keys from her toothless gape and replace them with the proper pacifier. Victor can't stifle a laugh when I eye him dubiously.

"They were clean enough," he shrugs in his defense.

"If she gets sick, I'm telling the doctor it was your fault," I poke him in the chest and keep moving.

I feel the eyes of other shoppers looking curiously on us. We look vaguely familiar to most— having appeared on their television set in one way or another over the past couple of years— but odd, pushing a baby in our cart. The gazes of most shoppers are of surprise or distant affection, but an underlying current of judgement and homophobia still cuts through every now and again. I feel the need to hold Victor and Valkyrie closer, as if those few people have the authority to take my family away.

Victor suddenly interrupts my anxious thoughts.

"Юрий (Yuuri) love, look at this," he says cheerfully. "валькирия (Valkiriya/Valkyrie) likes this one the most," he coos, dangling the keys in front of her again.

I move to snatch them away again but Valkyrie's giggling around the pacifier stops me for a moment. I settle for batting him away after a moment and telling him, "Bikuta-chan (Victor), she has a rattle."

He sticks his tongue out and replies, "But I want to play."

I kiss his cheek and continue moving the cart. We come to the vegetables and Victor snickers to me while he holds up everything that could even remotely resemble a penis as I mutter in Japanese and try to ignore him. Valkyrie blinks up at us with serene blue eyes above the quiet pacifier. She looks mellowed and amused, allowing me to reflect the emotions or project my feelings onto her, I am unsure.

"Okay, that's the last of what we need," I inform Victor, checking off the last vegetable on our grocery list with a sense of satisfaction. "You are more than ready to go home," I laugh, pushing the cart toward the registers. 

"Do you think we can have any fun when we get home?" Victor follows on my heels.

I smirk and cast a furtive sidelong glance in his direction. 

"Mm, possibly. Chores done?"

He shrugs, to which I roll my eyes.

"Pretty please," he wraps one arm around my waist and surprises me. 

I almost lose my grip on the cart. He rolls his hips against me and breathes sultrily down my neck. A shiver runs up and down my spine before I can even process a verbal response. Am I going to let a sexy touch reign over housework today? Of course. Housework is dull and I'll take any excuse to ignore it today.

"Mmm. Just let us pay for these groceries, Bikuta-chan (Victor)," I plead. "Then we can have some... fun," my face heats with embarrassment as I admit it.

"That makes grocery shopping with you worth it," he beams.

I toss him a harassed, although bemused, glare. To which he responds with another unashamed heart-shaped grin. He's lucky he's cute. As if to undermine him, however, Valkyrie begins to fuss.

*****

I've just finished cooking pork cutlet bowls for we each while Victor spoon feeds Valkyrie.

"Открыть широкий (Otkryt shirokiy/Open wide)," he coos fondly.

Valkyrie complies, nomming on the plastic spoon. A phone call grabs our attention, my cell vibrating noisily beside Victor on the kitchen table. Victor reaches over and scans the screen, looking up curiously.

"It's Elkena's grandmother," he says, answering the phone when I nod once.

Victor starts in cheerful Russian, but soon fades into muttering and mumbling that I can't hardly catch. I'm more than a little paranoid that Elkena's grandmother is going to die soon, leaving her granddaughter adrift again. Partially to hear better and partially to coax some color into Victor's face again, I bring him a bowl of steaming food. He nods graciously at me, still listening to the line. 

Victor lowers the phone, eyes searching my face.

"One of us should go fetch Елкена (Elkena)," Her grandmother had a fall, but Кена (Kayna/Kena) doesn't want to sleep in the hospital tonight. They're giving her dinner now to appease her for the time being."

I stare blankly for a moment, mind buzzing. Victor hasn't even finished feeding Valkyrie. I can't leave Elkena there, though. I assume this is all in the understanding that I'm even allowed to fetch her, although her grandmother is very fond of Victor and me. I attempt to exhale my doubts.

"I suppose I can go, you mean right now?"

"Да (Da/Yes)," Victor replies, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "They're in the state-funded Hospital though, darling. They aren't likely to know Japanese or English... I should go with you," he continues, but then immediately jumps back into the conversation on the phone. 

I take over feeding Valkyrie as Victor sits on the phone and finishes the call. We cast longing glances at each other, mourning our loss of intimate time together. But as soon as Victor hangs up the phone he catches me in a long kiss. I scramble under his dominating grasp, unwilling to get hot in front of the baby, but Victor doesn't pursue anything more. He grumbles something husky and probably lustful in Russian under his breath, but helps me grab things to get in the car. 

"Late night time for fun, then?" Victor laughs, settling Valkyrie in her carseat. 

"It'll have to be," I agree apologetically. "But it'll be well deserved by then," I wink.


End file.
